Carina Gray is a sharp-witted, fiercely loyal Slytherin with a knack for mischief and a heart of gold she tries hard to keep hidden. Known for her bold sense of humor and unwavering courage, she isn't afraid to stand up for her friends, even if it m...
The summer heat was unbearable, pressing down on the orphanage like a suffocating blanket. The cracked windows of Mrs. Trumble's dreary institution barely let in any breeze, and the smell of dust and old wood clung to everything. The building itself seemed to groan under the weight of years of neglect, much like the children who lived there.
Carina sat on her hard, creaky bed, staring out the small window of her cramped room, her mind miles away from the place she called home. The familiar scolding voice of Mrs. Trumble could be heard from down the hall, barking orders at some poor child who hadn't scrubbed the kitchen floors to her satisfaction. It was always the same here: endless chores, rigid rules, and absolutely no joy.
Carina sighed, reaching under her pillow where she kept the letters she had managed to save—the ones Mrs. Trumble hadn't intercepted or burned. They were her only connection to the life that felt more like home than this place ever had.
She unfolded the most recent letter from George Weasley, smirking slightly as she read his playful words:
Carina,
You surviving over there? Hope you haven't gone soft on us.
Fred and I are working on a new prank involving some rather explosive fireworks—we're aiming for something big this time, like setting off a show during the Quidditch final. Trust me, you'll want to be involved. We've got something so big that McGonagall's hair might actually catch fire this time. That's a joke... I think.
Anyway, hope you're still keeping that sharp wit of yours. Don't let Trumble turn you into a house-elf.
By the way, the 'gift' I mentioned—did you get it? Or did that hag steal it? Let me know. Otherwise, I'll have to send something bigger and harder for her to hide.
P.S. How's that cat of yours? Send it my regards, if it hasn't run away from all the noise there.
- The better Weasley.
Carina smiled, folding the letter carefully. She hadn't received the gift George had mentioned, and she could only assume Mrs. Trumble had confiscated it. The woman had a way of sniffing out anything that brought Carina even a sliver of happiness.
George,
How do you think I'd survive this place if I'd gone soft? Mrs. Trumble is basically a human version of Filch, but with worse hair and even less humor. I've been stuck scrubbing floors, yes. —thanks for the reminder.
